


Dead Man's Party: Tenebras Mundus

by CakeIvy



Category: Dead Man's Party - Six Flags
Genre: Adding More Tags and Characters Further Into the Story, F/F, F/M, Ghouls, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Origin Story, Original Fiction, Original Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 14:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CakeIvy/pseuds/CakeIvy
Summary: A collection of works and episodes that sum up a connection between the mortal and spiritual worlds which takes its place in the form of an amusement park called Six Flags Great Adventure. The Eighteenth Generation, a group of ghouls in the year of 2018, need to gather their kind after the Seventeenth Generation doctor fright passed on and face their opponents to protect the only home that they know. They will have to trust one another, no matter how suspicious things seem to get, and go through challenging obstacles and complications that try to tear them apart.





	Dead Man's Party: Tenebras Mundus

**Author's Note:**

> I insistently promised to do this for the cast, and I did! I'm praying they see this <3 Happy New Years!

“My, oh, my..”

Featherwisp stood proudly in front of the now obliterated fountain and great pumpkin king statue, facing his worthy opponents. The bloody contents that were formerly held behind the metal gates poured out from the shattered gapes in the structure and spilled onto the rocky floor, staining the grey and brown gravel crimson. Each individual drop of the thick blood flowed past his clawed silvery feet and halted midway, resembling a manmade chute and gave the immoral king a sanguinary pathway to his rivals - the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Generations. His glittering pink and red eyes scanned across every spirited and scanty ghoul that longed to strike him to the ground, gaining as much information about their features and powers as possible. The first group consisted of six females and eight males: Lola Clarke, Scarletta Pearson, Collette Salazar, Harper Hoffman, Rain Greenwood, Crystal Fright, Emery Thompson, Rory Clarke, Glitch Ortiega, Steven Romero, Atlas Greenwood, Gavin Salazar, Dash Gray, and James R. Fright. The second distinct group, however, was merely made up of three females and four males: Greer Pearson, Lola Clarke Jr., Aylee Bernard, Aloysius Fright, Sebastian Thompson, Gideon Greenwood, and Adosia Fright. 

“How you’ve all grown…” Featherwisp purred and naturally directed his centered attention upon Aloysius, then Adosia, and finally James. He scoffed, baring his scarlet spotted teeth before releasing a snarl and taking a step forward to advise them that this was no harmless interrogation. “And how all of these memorable years have passed.. I’ve desired to shred your rotting flesh apart, one by one, and to taste your blood on my tongue. I waited too long! Months, years, decades!” He paused to take in a sharp inhale of fragrant air and gently let it out slow, followed by a sinister crackly giggle. “Hell, it is possible it’s been _centuries_ … I want a _feast_. Blood, blood, blood! Buckets of it and you’re all invited to join in. It won’t be prolonged..”

James sighed wearily and motioned for his loyal subjects to step away from the odd sight. After all, this was undoubtedly a civil dispute meant for himself and the ideal king of the Underworld, nothing more and nothing less. If not, the very earth bordering the charcoal metal encasing of the ornamental formation wouldn’t be cracking open and freeing fresh hot glowing steam, screams, and cries for everlasting mercy from the pits of the infernal netherworld. It was a potential threat. Featherwisp had been locked away in his own monstrous kingdom for two hundred and thirty-six years without his former knowledge until it was too late for him to take back what he’d allegedly done. Sacred Fountain Dwellers and Wastelanders loathed him; Voodoos, Inmates, and Bone Butchers cowered at the dreaded mention of his obscure name, and the Demons looked up to him as an idolized mentor. “Looks like you haven’t changed a bit, my lord.” James spoke softly. “I’m unsurprised.”

James wasn’t mistaken in the slightest based on Featherwisp’s iconic appearance. He stood at 5’8” tall and his visible skin was the same pale shade most ghouls and ghosts were familiar with, except for a purple and indigo spiral design that took place down his left shoulder. His disheveled hair was long and silky, and tinted neon greens, brilliant oranges, and purples, while his clothing was old and torn. A necklace which had precisely six separate pink shining gems attached to the string hung from his exposed neck to example how powerful his spiritual magic was and push the moral monsters of the phenomenal world to bow down to him. In spite of that, the most notable features to spot on his rugged body have been the three multicolored stony horns linked to his forehead and his immense leathery pitch black wings.

“But.. what I’m more surprised about is why you’re here. Two hundred years confined in captivity and _this_ is the place you chose to go? _An amusement park?_ ” James carefully questioned with an amused note in his mild tone and straightened his back up, crossing his arms and spying on Featherwisp’s disjunctive movements. Despite him comprehending the reality that he wasn’t abroad to move towards them, he was more concerned that they’d be bombarded by spells and sorcery. 

“Not any amusement park… This is a peaceful park of prosperity, a park that King Kelly Ortiz refined and rejoiced for his dear loving kin.” Featherwisp smirked at James’ response and glanced keenly at the narrow buildings and shops that were exceedingly decorated to accurately illustrate Warner Bros.’ prominent Looney Tunes characters and properties. “I knew this was where you’d be. On top of that, Jackson has changed. And change is really good and really bad. Do you _grasp_ why it’s bad? It’s bad because the fundamental laws that _he_ wrote and made clear have _also_ changed. It was a hard decision for future doctors to come. Joseph Todd Fright, Terrence Harmon Fright, Asher Chaddington Fright, and now _this_ pathetic desolate world is put into _your_ palms. How does that make you feel?”

“That doesn’t concern you, nor any of your wicked servants,” James muttered bitterly. “ You lock them away in the sturdiest cells you have, I’ll protect my own, and we can maintain our ways, Featherwisp. I will not tolerate your violent behavior either. This is my land, and my land is shielded by the rulers above to prevent cruel devils like you from coming in and ruthlessly slaughtering anyone you seek fit. And if you dare commit a direct assault, I’m certain the Trail Leaders will gladly take you in for a talk.”

“Oh, you’d _treasure_ that. You’d love getting rid of me once and for all, wouldn’t you? That’s what you’ve ideally wanted from the start since you inevitably arrived in Jackson on that overcrowded boat.” Featherwisp hummed, leaning forwards and gazing dully into James’ furious radiant emerald and ruby eyes. What’s gotten him particularly satisfied was perceiving how long it would be until the doctor broke, ended the useless bickering, and fought to the death against someone who walked alongside with Death itself. It wasn’t going to persist in being a straightforward task, although it was manageable at the same time. “ James Samuel Reed, he wanted to establish a renewed happy-go-lucky life. Construct a pleasant home, research his unusual forbidden fantasies, find a devoted wife, provide many gifted boys and innocent girls to extend his extraordinary legacy, and _what did he do_?”

“Dad?” Aloysius intervened and poked his head out from behind his taller younger brother’s shoulder. “What is he talking about?” 

“Hm.. as a result you have never explained your horrible past, now did you, James? Let me guess… the unique stories in your brainless kiddie show were intentionally _meant_ to adequately represent plausible lies? Was it a fairy tale to influence the mortal _children_ that the undead does in fact exist? Does James Reed even pop into your shallow mind whenever you think about yourself? Your precious health? Your emotional well being, your vulnerable family, your _planet_?. Is anything real to you anymore?” Featherwisp taunted.

“That’s enough. I humbly suggest you leave. Now!” James barked and felt his fists clench tight. _No… this isn’t the proper way. No fighting. Combat will cause the grave situation to worsen, and it will inevitably lead to an imminent war on the Dark Bridge and you can’t be preoccupied with that right now_. “I am not going to fight you. I don’t want to fight you. I ask you to head home, go rule the realm you were offered long ago and I will move on the same way.”

“I am home! Weylin is back where he rightfully belonged, and I am hither to stay! There is.. And there is nothing you can do about it!” Featherwisp retaliated further and spread his twisted wings free, where those were promptly accompanied by a few relieving crackles and snaps beneath the thin callous skin and fragile bones. 

“There is, though. I can do something about it.” James remarked. “Countless Generations and Generations of ghouls, expired kings, doctors, and you indiscriminately target us. They’ve done nothing wrong. Nobody has! The sole thing you can do is to justly accuse yourself, and you recall exactly why you need to. Right?” He drew in a long breath and exhaled, glancing back to spot how concerned Adosia, his step-son, and Aloysius were in that instant. “... son, I’ll tell you what he is talking about. In 1849, I, a mortal being, sailed from England and across the Atlantic; Andover, to be precise, to the United States. I wanted peace and quiet, I yearned to be alone and forever secret in my works of art. I wanted to learn about an unfamiliar language that was brought up to me called Latin, and it was a magnificent find. It was a sacred language used by witches and wizards to conjure the dead and dominate their minds, pursuit them out and perform uncluttered incantations, charms, and enchantments. I began to work the land and retrieve plants and fruits and become more unfortunately social to the newcomers and villagers of Jackson. They were harmonious, kindhearted, generous and perfect in a way. Nevertheless, I instantly understood that wouldn’t last for a long time. It was never intended to be.”

“I came across a historical book of black magic one Wednesday afternoon and I was petrified. Though, in trivial spite of that, I equally seemed to react in compelling fascination. Latin is what I was systematically studying at its finest and fortunately discovering a book that was written in the exact confusing slang of specific words was exciting and worrying. I noticed that leaves were falling and taking these obscure colors of brilliant red, orange, and yellow. Frost coated the dirt grounds, killing and polluting the cultivated crops that I planted, and created this wonderful freezing autumn wonderland. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but sometimes I thought I smelt foul decomposing bodies within my withering house and constantly searched to no avail. Sure, there’d be a high number of cattle and chickens sprawled in the piling snow because of the harsh weather; their fur and feathers crumbling away and unveiling their dry entrails, the tissue that molded around their immobile muscles and untouched ivory skeleton. It was gruesome and delightfully intriguing. I suppose I could say I acquired a lifelong passion for the grotesque, and it gradually turned into a morbid obsession that most villagers and immigrants had a fastidious eye on. Among these townspeople, there were whispers and rumors spread about me and the black witchcraft and necromancy, and talk of exile and execution for what I was presumably getting into. They indicted me for utilizing potions and atrocious concoctions to alter the universe and lure the spirits to me. The hearsay wasn’t wrong.”

“I witnessed ghastly visions not long afterwards and endured mortifying nightmares and encounters that nobody should be put through. One of them was shockingly exceptional due to the guidance I was lent, and I learned I was far from alone in the catastrophic assumptions. There was another young man whom scoured for sufficient answers and unbiased advice to this hidden language, and his name was Weylin Fortstock. Long story short, he’d gotten further and was at the brink of success because he so found an effective tactic to capture and steal the spirits, seal their valuable powers, and manipulate them as appalling weapons to urge humanity that he was more superior in authority. He was a treacherous enemy. The desperate spirits he stole were comprised of fourteen lost souls and by god, I craved to liberate them and provide them pleasant warmth and tranquility. The first one I met and sheltered was a gorgeous lady by the name of Crystal Belle, and she’d... She’d befall the woman I’d call my wife ten years later. Next, I was introduced to Lola and Rory Clarke, and the intricate pattern advanced onward like a subsequent lineup. Scarletta Pearson, Harper Hoffman, Emery Thompson and Dash Gray, Steven Romero, Collette Sween and Gavin Salazar, Glitch Ortiega, and Rain Leora and Atlas Greenwood.”

“I salvaged them. I, alas, was aware the competition was not over, though, and I was strained to finish it, and I did. I traveled to Weylin’s residence, anxiously looked for his sinister presence, and condemned him with the Latin spells that I knew the best. Back and forth, to and fro and it hardly stopped. And finally, I made it. _Darkness of the stars unfolds, and a sorrowful story untold. If you choose to enter my mind and see what it beholds, a cold is what we are, tired, heartless, and old. Thrown into the sky is where thy go when they die and together we lie, no matter their wails and cries. It is my final destination, free them as you must. Blackness will fade into garnet ridden lust_.”

“Don’t you tempt me, Reed! You’ve said _enough_..” Featherwisp stomped his foot to the floor, splattering some of the pooling puddles of blood nearest to him in several directions. His face was the definition of pure anger and uneasiness thereafter conceiving the English version of the baleful spell James prepared. 

“ _Expediam historia siderum tenebris et tristis numerus. Si eam accipere eliges, et vide quid intrabit in animo cogitantis aspicitur, quod sumus frigus, lassus, crudelis, et vetera. Foras mittetur in caelum tuo vade in die cum una, et non mentitur, utcumque suorum eiulatibus personantem et clamorem contritionis levabunt. Hoc est meum metam, et liberabo eas oportet. Et erit flos decidens in equo vectus libidine contraxerunt atrorem carbunculus_.”

“ _Aqtalhum jamieana_!” Featherwisp bellowed out a hazardous Arabic spell in return to James skillful Latin speech and stood adamantly before the ground encircling the demolished fountain opened up underneath, discarding the classical Six Flags adornment and replacing it with a colossal ebony beast. It shot out of the vast collapsing entrance and landed in the middle of the walkway that ran in the route of Adventure Alley, dispatching intense tremors throughout the spacious park from the Golden Kingdom to the Safari Kids section. The outlandish creature’s skin was scarred, disfigured, and marred from former billowing flames and aggressive hostilities, while it took no related tint of pigment other than a sable night sky coloration. It exhibited dozens of tiny vivid chartreuse and amber eyes lining its brow and squamous muzzle, lengthened ear flaps mirroring an axolotl, four sets of giant arachnid claws extending down its bulked shoulder blades and thighs, sturdy hind legs that portrayed something of a Tyrannosaurus, a long slender sleek tail, and snowy blood and dirt blemished fur that stuck to its cheekbones, scruff, sides, and slim limbs. Its estimated height and length was alarming to the Generations nevertheless, compared to when it initially made its surprise arrival; four hundred and sixteen feet tall, and six hundred and ten feet long. “Meet my friend… Edax animae.”

“ _Soul Eater_.” James muttered in awe and outright terror. He gaped at the stationary creature, admiring how tremendously constructed and strong it was until he was driven out of his trance to regard its swift reply to the ghouls in front of it. It reared upwards, positioning at an elevated stature and lifted a pair of its narrow legs to smash down into the mob of ethical zombies. The legs plummeted. “Run!” He shouted frantically at his followers and motioned for them to hurry to shelter. “Crystal, escort them to CarnEvil and advise Queen Maria!”

Adosia slipped by his step-mother and older brother, rejecting his noble father’s urgent orders to inform the clown Queen of the unexpected invasion, and scampered over to him preparatory to the legs of the mighty creature inches from flattening the doctor to nothing. His hands sparked a magenta flare and unleashed a quantity of small floating Latin symbols that hovered at the summit of his temple and chin, molding his image to parallel a mystical Pharaoh. “ _Occultes eum_!” He cried and a brighter magenta beam blasted out of his unerring hand, enveloping James in a rose-tinged force field and beating the midnight monster backward. Soul Eater was tossed aside, its body tumbling and sliding over the wide pit in the ground, and propelled into The Joker coaster. The impact provoked the smooth shamrock and violet tracks to dent and split, flinging the bolts and wires loose out of their hinges, and basically buckle beneath the creature’s weight and spout impenetrable clouds of dust and sparks. “Leave my father alone!”

Featherwisp cackled and darted towards the duo, the standard sized pink jewels on his necklace flashing a blinding disadvantageous light into their eyes. “Why, the Lil’ baby prince Fright wants to horse around with daddy! _Supercertari, prostrata et flammae, acidum talia audeant facere_!” He pounced at Adosia, his primary ample prey, and launched three precise lethal spells that included abominable qualities of endless agony, igneous scorching flames, and venomous acidic mist. Thankfully, Adosia was proficient at dodging all divided conjurations and skidding in front of his competitor to strike him in the jaw, making him stumble a couple of feet away. 

James detached the force field from Adosia’s concentrated mind, rendering him defenseless and impotent, only to peer forwards and see Soul Eater’s ginormous form charging to the momentous duel at a maximum speed within a heartbeat of being projected into a coaster half its size. It howled an ear-splitting roar, bounded over the ample hole and smacked James into the glossy cement wall of the M-Porium gift shop with one of its legs in the process. His spine emitted a sickening crack when he collided and blood bubbled in his throat and spewed out of his lips. The swat shattered that part of the pasty material from the utmost pressure; and before his sore body could descend to the concrete pathway, the tip of the freakish creature’s spider-shaped legs seized and heaved him into the raw air in the fore of its snout. Its scaled flawed lips curved into an unholy grin at the view of James’ feeble and aching frame. In one rapid act, it chucked its waning conscious victim through the hollow trench and stalked behind by plummeting inwards a second later. Adosia’s shrill shrieks for his wounded father to regain his strength and object were the latter things he heard above the dimming gloomy surface heretofore being submerged in the silent shadows of the Tophet’s boundary. 

The world James was adapted to felt like it was flipped upside down. It felt hazy, his quivering body was numb to the core, and he couldn’t record the track of his setting and where he was heading. He thought he was falling into an infinite passage of torture and despair, and the mere indication that he was indeed moving was the placid sensation of wind brushing and touching his silken hair and fuchsia overcoat. The uninterrupted decline made him neglect his senses and if it weren’t for the abrupt suspend in mid-air, he wouldn’t have stirred and declared a dumbfounded yelp. Brittle air returned to his lungs and he panted, fluttering his teary eyes open and frenziedly inspecting the blighted area girding him. It was a vague location, and the cloudless aqueous skies were painted black, vermilion, and maroon. Although there was no dirt or turf, he found himself buoyant and obliviously gawking into the hidden copious green and yellow eyes of his competent. At the point of fathoming Soul Eater’s whereabouts, he choked out a faint gasp and struggled vainly to drift away. 

“I shouldn’t choose to do that. That’s damaging.” Soul Eater suggested, its solemn stoic voice muffled by the hydrous barrier sundering them both. “Movement can annihilate you in this uninviting dungeon. We’re over the border barricading Featherwisp’s hell from your heaven and any attempt on escaping will ruin you. I won’t infer anything about your life, but I’m positive you want to see and hold your heartbroken children and spouse again.”

“You don’t know anything about my life!” James called out and challenged Soul Eater’s remote gaze. “You don’t know me. You don’t know my wife. You don’t know my sons! You’re a careless beast, and _you know it_!”

“Oh, I do know. And I likewise know I haven’t always looked this hideous… I was meant to be _original_. I was meant to be _beautiful_.” Soul Eater creased its brow and appeared to be distressed at the noteworthy thought. No more scales and assorted colorful eyes, less hair on its broad carnal physique, and narrowly visible panic and foreboding in its henchmen's’ sight. “Those superb times are far behind me. It was a treat.”

“ _What_?” James paused, thunderstruck. 

Soul Eater unruffled its frons and hoisted its oval fashioned head to stare at James’ afloat body, blowing out a fair mass of blistering smoke that shattered into the barrier and outspread. “2005. _The Fifth Generation_. You know who they are. Everyone appreciates who they are and were. The strongest Generation in any state possible, from the Mayor Slayer’s Six Flags Fiesta Texas to The Great Escape of New York. Kelly Ortiz, Nathaniel Watson, Joseph Moore, Aaron and Anthony Stidolph, Meadow Williams, Isa Smith, Donatella Moore, Celine Wilson, and Rachel Davis… Kelly was the king, the legitimate king! He has been special since the start. It’s uncommon to have a son that rare and full of _ducis, fortis virtute, et amoris et acceptatio_! Lamias, vampires, banshees, bugbears, phantoms, they said over and over that Kelly wouldn’t make it through his teenage prince-ling years, and the crown would be handed down to his juvenile brother Favian. Boy, how accelerated he was. He was part demon, that genus was sternly forbidden in the doctrines the earliest doctor Anto Fright certified, and he resumes as that species to this day of the eighteenth year. Alas, Favian was blithely dismissed, deserted in the empty roads of Movie Town, and entrusted to watch the key prince rise to the top and grow to be a diligent king. He was enraged like I was and contradicted Kelly to a death match where he achieved his prominent abilities to move the moon to the skies and inconsolably lost. I lost. Kelly lost. The intact picture-perfect park lost. Nobody could do a thing.”

“2015, _the Fifteenth Generation_ , Kelly was murdered in cold blood by a fiendish psyche that he entrusted and was purged of his pink occult energy. His gemstones were purloined, split, and worn as a prop and a trophy, and wielded for the opposite of luxury, comfort, and glee They were harnessed for the purpose of devastation. Heartache. Resentment. Restriction. Discrimination. Fracturing a family. Featherwisp presented no sympathy or magnanimity, and butchered ghouls and ghosts and jesters, scattering this massacre far and full to divulge his loss of sanity. Favian embarked on the chance to chase Featherwisp, beside his fellow demon warriors and pledged to assassinate him in an endeavor to avenge his brother’s passing. His mission failed, however, when I interjected and vanquished his army, accosted him, and averted his means of voyaging to the Underworld ever again for the preservation of Feather’s condition. I know what he did was unacceptable. It was greedy, asinine, and disheartening. You don’t take a person’s life without a valid reason, and watching a doctor’s spirit flow out of their soul and disintegrate is… heinous. _Deus, adiuva nos omnes_ , it’s heinous. _Quod si etiam ego vado, vos scitis quanta ego faciam tecum. Volunt occidere, volo occidere. Sa'uqtiluk, kl shakhs ' arah, sa'amdah Featherwisp. astahaq kili dhlk, wakadhalik faealt 'anata!_ ” Soul Eater growled, switching from Latin to Arabic, the language James was foreign with, and its eyes spazzed refous and cobalt. “ _Sayatimu tadmir kl shay'! Sawf najid tariqat 'alwaysius awlaan, thuma 'adalia, wakhyraan almawadie almathirat lilshafqat al'ukhraa. Sawf takun liwahadik kama law kunt tilk almiat min aleam almadi_! So let’s take a look at the past! Shall we?”

The area went pitch black, like a switch to a light was clicked off, and James was diving back through the boundless channel of anguish in reverse. His stomach overturned, the unnerved and lightheaded feel of the swap happening to be substituted with nausea, and the drop was a gale compared to the basic former fall. He squeezed his breath, eyeing the clear cavity in the upper flooring of the Earth growing closer and extra atmospheric. It was chillier, healthily clean, welcoming, and a view he worshiped. Yet, someone has clutched the back of his neck, uplifted him, and as soon as the pair mounted over the gap, rammed him into the ground. Whatever and whoever it was that confronted him booted off his shoulders, knocking James to the side, and landing in front. He seized a glimpse of a beige viridescent spiked tail and an umber furry point. “It feels delightful… to be in this body again.” The mystery figure heeded and his vocals were serene and tender, embodying the timbre of a solicitous father. 

James coughed and looked up at his assailant. He was 5’9” tall and pastel and lavender smudge skinned. His bushy hair was velvety, woolly, and raven-like nightfall; whilst his attire was incorporated of a shaded lilac jacket, a plump grey and black layered raccoon fur neck collar and wrist cuffs of the selfsame name, pinstriped pants, and a featureless cape. The tan tail was a differentiating characteristic. Beyond everything, ghouls weren’t modeled to withstand or compose a tail on their hindquarters. 

Fatherwisp unavoidably detained Adosia in a choke hold, observing the dishonorable stranger, and his exhausted puffing hitched. “Rhaouliah. Rhaouliah Ortiz’s come back! Return to your throne, govern your hapless prisoners, and profit what you’ve lost! The Generations have dreamed of your crowning. The Fourth Generation is meant to be. You must stand a monarch of the Eighteenth! The Nineteenth! The Twentieth and forthgoing! _Laudate te, hes 'rediit, te laudo! Deorum, miserere mei! Deorum, exaudi nos! Rhaouliah est rex, Rhaouliah est rex! Rhaouliah quod Edax animae_!” 

Adosia took Featherwisp’s never-ending ramblings to be an unintelligent distraction and bucked, tugged his elbow forward, and thrust it back to jab him in the torso. He yipped in minor discomfort and startlement, letting go of the doctor’s son’s neck and stumbling away for Rhaouliah to see. A succeeding diversion was made knowledgeable after he had turned to look at the two grappling and the pained James hastened to perch on his feet, spin, and kick the tailed man’s legs in. “ _Uolens eripere eum!_ ”

Straightaway, James jumped forwards once Rhaouliah was assuredly on the ground and his hands, like his son’s supernatural fashion, ignited in a muster of luminous ruddy, sapphire, and golden hues and Latin ideograms. He let an incensed scream loose, throwing his arms down to bomb him into oblivion, only to detect indefinite activity underneath he wishes he hadn’t. Midway over the aggressor, powers not even unfettered, Rhaouliah unsheathed his savage claws and outstretched his arm. It almost issued in slow motion for a matter that materialized too fast. His claws lashed James’ chest, slicing open the flimsy fabric of his frayed shirt and skin, and slit through the rest of the way to his abdomen, spilling gore and supplemental contents onto his bloodthirsty killer. He flew over Rhaouliah, crashing into the path and sliding to a stop where his royal blood drained out of him, puddling into a lone icy place. 

“Dad!” Adosia screamed, horrified, and bolted to James’ shivering and gutted body. He dashed recklessly by Featherwisp, by Rhaouliah, and sunk to his bruised knees in the plash of rouge blood, paying no mind to the feasible smears on his apparel. Tears welled in his squinted apoplectic eyes hearing his dying father’s raspy wheezes and labored gags, and monitoring the slow pace of his chest climbing and falling until there was woefully no more strength left to breathe. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t help, he couldn’t haul him to assistance, he’d purely watch and overlook the waterfall of tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'm sorry."

_I'm sorry. Yes, I was sorry. I was sorry because I never got the opportunity to tell him that I loved him. He's sorry that he never opened his ears to give Aloysius or me the likelihood of it. I'm sorry I was stupid to fight back and believe I could overpower them. He's sorry he didn't shove me away and usher me to my mother and handle the divisive fight on his own. I'm sorry I wouldn't be the doctor he schooled me to be, and he's disappointed that he didn't teach me enough. That's all there is to it. This isn't war, and this isn't a playground imaginary engagement. This is a clash of two opposing and unmistakable kings that shouldn't have ever met, beginning conflict to protect what's theirs and prove who is mightier._

_This is the Eighteenth Generation. The promising start of grand guardians that stand to try. To try and defend and conserve._

_And I am Adosia Fright. I'm not a king. I'm not a hero. But I am something my father wasn't. A believer._


End file.
